Hey, everyone. We're slogging through the start of the story. I promise that it'll pick up soon; this is a slow burn, and I want it to feel like the stakes are mounting. I certainly hope that's what's happening instead of it being boring. Plus, I said a few A/Ns ago that I wanted to show Mike and Foxy actually having a nice day at work, and I figured this would be a good time to do that. The options were here or near the end, and this seemed like a more natural place.

In personal news, I have almost gotten my Commercial Driver's License, which will let me start my bus driving job. It's going well so far, though I don't think I can say anything else. Also, I got a pet recently - two, in fact! I've never owned animals, but I wanted to once I became settled into my living situation. I thought about all sorts of animals: cats, rabbits, ferrets, birds, turtles, etc. I ended up getting two White's tree frogs, though! They don't require much care, you don't need to play with them, and they don't move around much. As long as you have a good enclosure, keep the humidity and temperature in the right range and feed them enough, it's easy. But yeah, they're doing well so far exploring the place. Their names are "Pickle" and "Relish", and they're funny little guys. I might share more about them in the future, once I get to know them better.

Thanks to Soviet Fox for reviewing since last time! I hope you all enjoyed the chapter, and I'll see you again soon as the action kicks up a notch.

Friday, July 21, 2017, 4:30 PM

Mike's glassy eyes scanned the screen for the dozenth time. He knew there were words on it, but he couldn't read them. Oh, they were in English and large enough to see. The lighting was fine. Nothing glitched. He just couldn't bring himself to focus.

The kids outside the office weren't the problem, nor the fan blowing a bit too cold. The issue was him and the thoughts racing through his head. It was impossible to think now that the dread of what they needed to do set in. A shiver ran up his back. It would have been easier if he could start preparing. He just needed to get through one more day. Or, more accurately, a few hours. His fingers drummed against the desk over and over.

Part of him wanted to watch YouTube or read pointless articles, but that'd lead to a complete loss of productivity. He wanted to get something done, even if it amounted to little. Besides, it'd be a bad habit; he'd already gotten distracted too many times before, and some of the kids were straight-up addicted to their phones. He had half a mind to turn the Internet off entirely, but there was no cellular data a mile or two outside town, and that was the only way to contact their parents - the corded phones in Phil's and the guard office went out with the Ark. Besides, things were usually exciting enough that the electronic devices soon went away.

A bitter groan escaped his lips, and he placed his forehead against the desk, closing his eyes. Napping wasn't the best use of time, either. In fact, he wondered if the whole use of the last four days had been wasteful. Everyone needed to listen to the tapes and confirm what Mary said, plus getting his assets in one place for purchases that he hoped wouldn't bankrupt him. Still, it had been a week since he got the package, and time flew faster than he could catch it.

He only wished he could put his computer down. Well, tally the costs of expenses and whatnot… or did he? He raised his head and tried to think, though his vision remained blurry. There would be plenty of time with the restaurant closed for exactly one month. And so what if he screwed some numbers up? Committing tax fraud wouldn't be the weirdest thing to happen in the building. In fact, it might have been the most normal. It was beyond tempting. Besides, he needed to be out before too long for a different reason.

With a sigh and a quiet curse, he slid out of his chair. There was nothing left to do in here… so he'd go out there. Crunching numbers was only one part of his job. The other, more important segment, was interacting with others. As the only human worker, he had a special connection with customers.

All you have to do is not be upset, he thought, trying to mold his face into a more neutral expression. He couldn't smile without it looking creepy and fake at that moment, yet maybe genuine conversations would bring one out soon enough. All right, let's do it. Mike shoved open the door and walked down the short hallway to where the action happened.

He emerged into a room brimming with kids and exploding with prepubescent energy. They played games, used the claw machines, zoomed in and out of the Cove, watched Mary give a science lesson in addition to overseeing the claw machines, or just listened to the Band rock out. There were plenty of options, and timetables taped to the walls helped people know who did what at any time. As it was, this was a busier than average night, and for good reason.

A birthday party had just started - Dwayne's, he believed, whom he spoke to last week. That happened in a small town. The total population of kids between five and 11 couldn't have been more than 100 or 120, and over half of them were in the building; most visited at least monthly. It could be as repetitive as it was mind-melting, and his friends bore the brunt of it. Plenty of birthday parties, obviously. If only 25 kids that age celebrated theirs at Fazbear's (which seemed like an average annual number), it was still an average of once every two weeks. Still, it was fun to personalize them when they could.

"Hey, Mike!" He turned to see a girl of about 10, Lauren, sprint up to him. Thought she was going to run into him for a second, but she stopped on a dime. Well, she did play soccer. Mike cleared his throat. He preferred kids to call him by his last name to preserve some semblance of authority, but he couldn't actually stop anyone from doing that, and it kind of caught on.

"Lauren, how are you doing? Good to see you," Mike said. He already felt more energetic from talking to her. Kids had a way of giving older people some of their energy, Mike had found.

"Yeah, I'm doing good!" she chirped. "Me and my family got back from Disney World." Right, she mentioned that last time he saw her. As much as he loved the restaurant, it couldn't compete. Good thing Disney was on the exact opposite side of the country - didn't want the competition butting into his turf. They just talked for a minute or two. Kids sometimes did that because he made himself approachable. Not in a weird way, but they could always chat about light stuff. Which was what they did until some of her friends called her over, and that was that. Before he could do anything else, a familiar chicken burst out of the kitchen, humming a jaunty tune.

Someone's in a good mood. They should all be so lucky. Maybe he would feel better by the night's end. "Hey, Chica. Uh, do you need a-a-any help in the kitchen?" he asked. It was mostly a formality, since she would have already told him if she needed an extra set of hands. Always nice to offer, though.

"I'm fine, thanks!" she replied with a smile on her beak. "The main orders should be done soon, and then dinner is at 5:30. I was just checking the ovens. The ice cream cake will be out not long after." Ice cream cake? Chica was a genius… maybe he could sneak a bite or two. Both cringed as a shriek like a sonic boom. Nothing bad happened; kids just went nuts sometimes. After they regained composure, she continued, "Anyway, I'm up for a ventriloquism act!"

Oh, then Mike better watch. He got to observe his friends every day, yet it never got less exciting. Still, she needed to wait for the current act to let up, which it almost had. Freddy stood on stage, book of poetry in hand, monologuing like the Shakespearean actor he could never be. Freddy never particularly cared for this stuff in his previous life as a lumberjack, but he was all about existentialist philosophy now, and for good reason. Mike promised him he'd be able to perform Waiting for Godot after killing Auric.

"Shall be lifted - nevermore." He bowed as he finished reciting The Raven. Only a small smattering of applause rang out, and most kids didn't bother looking. They were either ambivalent or bored out of their minds byFreddy's schtick, but he didn't care. Neither did Mike. It made him happy (and wasn't inappropriate). That was all that mattered. The audience perked up more when Chica climbed onto the stage.

"Hey, everyone!" she shouted, spinning on her toes and bowing like a ballerina. "Are you ready for a great show tonight?" Whoops and cheers erupted; this was something they were excited about. "Glad to hear it."

Chica did a number of different routines, from live cooking demonstrations to juggling, but puppetry was her favorite. Mr. Cupcake was still her main prop (sometimes the only one in a routine), but she had a few others. Most notably the person joining her presently. Mary silently stepped through the curtains, having joined the party.

After all, she was technically a marionette, and she didn't mind playing to type. She walked robotically; while she was, of course, a machine, she normally behaved as organically as the rest. This was an act - for the duration of the show, she was nothing more than a prop for Chica to move around as she pleased. Good thing they'd already gotten this routine down pat over the last few years. As they started, Mike stood with his hands on his hips and watched the kids, letting the good vibes wash over him.

Mike counted himself lucky to know these youngsters so well. It was nice to interact with children, since he didn't have kids and never would. Sylvia and her husband of 12 years (who had never been told about this, at her insistence) didn't plan to have kids, and honestly, she may have been too old by that point even if she wanted. So he'd never be an uncle, either. Instead, he got to be a good role model, if not a community leader, if one stretched the definition far enough. How many other towns, regardless of geography or demographics, had someone like that? It couldn't have been many. All because of a single choice he made 17 years ago by getting a job here. And it wasn't just him. The animatronics imparted their own lessons, even if people didn't know to be grateful.

Mary did a little jig, supposedly being yanked around on strings by Chica. Of course, she'd turn the tables a little later by tripping Chica up; he'd seen this act before, which was why the two had planned to retool it soon. Still, there was nothing wrong with it so long as it genuinely came from the heart. Which was something that also applied to him as the manager.

While Phil tried to put on a good show, it was never for the kids or his own self-proclaimed family. It was to make himself feel better. He didn't mingle, and he always felt like a cold outsider, no matter how much smarm he tried to smother himself with. Mike knew not to fall into the same trap. He didn't need to be a carnival barker or cartoon character. He only needed to be himself. As corny as that sounded, it was true.

Mike was about to move on when his iPhone dinged at him from his pocket. He casually withdrew it, thinking someone sent him a text, only to be taken off guard by the automatic notification. He'd been so lost in thought that he'd almost forgotten one of his obligations! Though he may have been the manager, he had a host of other duties to attend to.

One of his favorites just so happened to be playing the heavy in a pirate extravaganza.

5:30 PM

Foxy couldn't keep her eye off the clock the entire evening, from playing with kids to doing brief skits in her story to climbing all over the hull of her ship. The appointed time barreled at them like a cannonball. Though still a month away, it may as well have moved at the speed of light. Her sense of time was already weird from spending nearly half her life in solitary confinement, and this sure as Hell didn't help.

Less hysterically, she paid attention to time because it had just turned dinner o'clock! There was only one part of her act left before letting the tykes go, for she ran late…

She loudly stomped on the wooden stage, though she carefully made sure not to overdo it. The last thing she needed was a leg like a piston to put a hole in the floor. That had happened a few times over the years, and it always embarrassed her. That came part and parcel with being a robot, though. While she was sometimes jealous of humans in a human world, she had to admit that being unique had its own appeal - and the physical advantages, of course, were sundry. Few people could lift couches over their heads if they put their backs into it.

She doubted most kids had ever seen large animatronics other than them. Places like Chuck E. Cheese's were purely artifacts of the distant past. Even in 2000, such businesses were on the way out. In the current year, they were relics. How many could there have been? The ones that remained might not have dealt with maintaining claptrap animatronics past their primes. Having biological immune systems meant they didn't need to worry about replacement parts.

Her stomp reverberated through the timbers. Her foe had been challenged. And the audience of children (and whichever of their parents or guardians cared to come) sat silently. Foxy couldn't suppress a smirk forming on her muzzle. These people had all been there before, and they were all invested in her ongoing storyline, which would be concluded that very night. It was originally supposed to stretch another four days, yet she didn't want to leave a cliffhanger before going on a month-long hiatus. A couple rewrites made it possible to condense.

An evil laugh rang out from behind the stage curtains, and out stepped her ultimate foe - at least until she came up with someone else: the Soul Reaper of Cairn Shoal. A fiendish being that killed anyone who came too close to his territory and made slaves of their ghosts. She made sure it wasn't too graphic for the little ones, but the implications were clear.

It was just Mike.

Maybe not the most intimidating person to play the part of an immortal monster, but he'd become an infinitely better actor over the years. Between the torn black pirate attire he hastily changed into, charcoal markings painted on his face and confident posture, he also almost looked the part!

"So, we meet again - fer tha' las' time!" her foe shouted, leaping out and landing in a crouch. He sniffed the air and crept toward her. Honestly kind of creepy, and one child booed the villain loudly. Mike stifled a laugh. "Ye've finally met yer match, Cap'n. No way ye can beat me!" Mike's stutter completely vanished when talking like a pirate. It was practically a different language. She knew people who stammered often had no trouble speaking other tongues. It was good speech therapy for him.

He drew his real metal scimitar from its scabbard. Dangerous? Perhaps. But it had been dulled enough that injury became unlikely, and they were both masters of the blade - her from "birth" and him from much practice. They knew how to put on a show without maiming each other.

Mike struck first. He made a good show of lunging forward, yet their choreographed dance meant she knew when to step out of the way. She retaliated, and he blocked it with the flat of his blade, making a deafening clang ring out! Part of her thought she could have easily landed the blow if she wanted to. With how much he trained, though, there was always the chance he genuinely could have parried if it turned into a genuine fight. The imitation of one, though, was plenty of excitement to go around.

It was an epic battle, the likes of which the audience had never seen! Well, they definitely had in movies, but live, mere feet away? That was a different story. The special effects may have been practically nonexistent, but she made up for it with sheer physicality and fun. Most people there had probably never seen a Cirque du Soliel show - surely this was the next best thing. They blocked each other's shots by the dozens, leapt over props and shot zingers back and forth. They could enjoy themselves and have an existential duel simultaneously! She laughed in pure joy despite all the fears weighing her down.

Foxy and Mike recently talked about mortality. The discussion stayed with her over the past week. Her husband couldn't keep up this level of physicality forever. Maybe he'd be able to run and roll like this for another 20 years. That was as long as both had been married. It came faster than she wanted, too. She glanced back at him; he couldn't keep his signature goofy grin off his face, no matter how intimidating he tried to appear. There might not have been a way to stop the ravages of time and the world's decay. They could only enjoy the ride.

In the end, she triumphed. Her sword was pointed at the Reaper's neck; his eyes were wide with the first fear he'd ever known. They tried to be, anyway. Even with Mike being a better actor, he had too much excitement to take this completely seriously. The crowd cheered as the villain of the past several months had been finally and decisively defeated. And with that, he was banished back to his realm, never to return to harm the living. A hammy shriek, and Mike - sorry, the Reaper - sprinted off the stage and out of the Cove. Out of her world… though the kids outside who didn't know what happened would be in for a shock when a screaming man in face paint and leather burst out!

Some kids were already on their feet going after him the moment he left, wanting to keep up the chase! Others clapped for her, and some of the adults were laughing. All were good responses to this happy ending. She wrote this to be catharsis. The actual demon in her life went undefeated despite every effort. It made her feel beat him. Even if the man she loved played the devil. All this emotion and drama was brought to them by a robot.

Of course, in the fiction they told the public, they weren't robots at all, but humans wearing "springlock suits", an invention of Fazbear's. That became more believable over time as technology marched on. There was still nothing like them in the world, but it was easier to swallow such super-advanced fursuits than it was in 2000. They stayed in-character at all times and never told anybody their real names. Everyone thought they were committed to roles.

Though that was the finale of her show, the night hadn't ended. Not by a long shot. They'd gone over time, and that meant it was time for the kids to go out and gorge on pizza and cake. Realizing this, her audience quickly dispersed. She lingered a moment longer as people already began to sing to Dwayne. Looked around and smiled at everything she'd help build. Then she slipped out, momentarily leaving her home abandoned.

Mike joined her outside right as the song ended. She couldn't have been heard over the cacophony of other voices, anyway. He had gotten mostly back to normal after a quick change of clothes in his office. The only thing out of sorts was the smudge of charcoal on his cheek. She stepped over and discreetly wiped it off.

"Thanks," he mouthed, looking bashful. God, she wanted to kiss him, but she couldn't do that now. The fire still burned in her bosom.

This was the part where they stayed out of the way. Foxy jumped in for a quick selfie with a kid if they wanted, yet other than that, it was time to let them run the show. They were only the second-biggest reason people came to the restaurant. The primary causes were their human friends. And it passed too quickly, as she expected. Photos, laughs, hugs, smiles.

It ended. The sun set, parents picked kids up, and all that remained was a big mess which needed to be cleaned and hauled to the dumpster. Always the worst part of an evening, but that barely mattered. It was the best night she'd experienced in a while. It needed to be, because she wasn't sure if a similar event would ever occur again.

"You two put on a great show," Bonnie said to Chica and Mary as the three shoveled leftovers into black garbage bags - and snuck bites of some still-warm morsels. "I was laughin' my ass off when Mary made you pratfall. I mean, I've seen it before, but it never gets old." Foxy snickered, as well; she thought Chica might actually have hurt herself this time.

"Your musical skills are also improving," Mary said, returning the praise, "and I think the new songs you've added to your routine have enhanced the sonic palette of your work." Foxy thought she knew what that meant, yet she couldn't be certain.

"I peeked in and saw what you and Mike did," Freddy added, looking at Foxy. He chucked a garbage bag toward the door, where it landed alongside another dozen. "It was funny. Too bad I didn't get it on tape." Foxy rolled her eye. That would have been a tall order because the animatronics didn't keep their phones on them during work hours. Also, only Foxy wore pants to store it. Speaking of which, though, it may have been good if he did. At this point, she wondered if she should write a lore guide or make a clip show to catch people up with the multi-year story she continued to craft. Still, the old skits weren't "lost media"; she stored the piles of old scripts in her quarters and occasionally read them.

It was half an hour later by the time everything had been vacuumed, scrubbed and hauled to the dumpster for city garbage to handle. The sun had barely set, yet she found herself with her hand on her knee, panting like a dog. This was the most tired she'd been for a long time. Not just from what happened, but from what was coming. With no energy to watch One Piece, she decided to go straight to bed as she and her friends walked back to the door.

"I've been h-here the last few nights, so I'm going, um, to spend one at my house," Mike said from behind her, which made her turn around. She understood. It was a long time to stay in one place… and he really did need to shower by that point.

"Don't be gone too long." Starlight fell across them, though she could tell clouds rolled in. With the neon pink lettering of Fazbear's sign above them, it felt like they just stepped out of a movie.

"Uh, I won't." He pulled her into a passionate kiss, which almost made her melt in his arms. These were the times when she felt invincible. It ended too quickly, as the two separated and prepared to go even farther apart. "See you in the morning." The fun would end, and the real, bitter work would begin.

She watched as Mike got into his car, started the engine, and drove away. Tail lights faded into the distance, blocked by fog and trees. Once they were gone, she walked inside, and her thoughts drifted elsewhere. There were many topics they wandered to that she didn't always have a chance to think about when working: new sets, how everything went, stuff she saw on the news. But one topic stood above all the others.

Foxy wondered what Auric did at that moment, wherever he was. What did his black, shriveled heart desire as she conspired to rip it from his chest?

Saturday, July 22, 2017, 12:00 AM

Auric read the local paper he took from the rack under the cover of night before strolling back to the forest on the outskirts of town. Clouds blocked any moon that may have been, leaving him in ebony. He didn't need light to see. Even in pitch blackness, he observed the world as plainly as in daylight. He saw everything with holes instead of eyes, from towering trees to the lesser beasts that crawled on the ground - and gave him a wide berth.

One leg crossed over another, he unfolded the papyrus, looking for one particular story. As expected, it made the front page of local correspondence. Another disappearance, proclaimed the headline. That was the big story in the gazette, as it had been for the past few days. Not much else to report on in a sleepy town whose only business was a booming tourism industry. "Oh, how unfortunate," he said aloud, hearing the malice and mirth drip from his mouth. Well, he was sure the youth's parents would find them eventually.

The mass grave was bound to be discovered one day.

He had been satisfied by the kill, yet he always looked to improve his craft. And artistry really was the goal. Auric could have extinguished so many more, but he was never the type to relish sheer numbers. If he wanted to go for quantity, he could have appeared to the leader of a nuclear power and convinced them to start a war. Or made himself public and told them that the gods they worshiped with fables and lies; the closest thing to a deity on this planet was him, and nothing could be done to stop him. The thought tempted him from time to time.

It had never been his way, though. He enjoyed the hunt almost as much as the kill. That was far more suited to singular targets. If he wanted to break or end a world, he could have. But Earth had been fallow soil for many years. With it gone, he'd have no more people like Virginia Drake - the name the paper gave the "missing" person - to enjoy. It would naturally perish one day, and then he'd be onto the next one.

He finished the story, satisfied to find that there were no leads thus far. He was sure to see more about it soon. There were a few more trite articles to be wrung out of it before the concept got stale. At that point, he'd begin devising his next hunt.

There was more paper to amuse himself with, and he did not require sleep, so he kept going. As he perused the happenings of the world, one upcoming event caught his eye: a solar eclipse passing through soon. Though the town he dwelled in was not within the totality, it was only 100 or so miles north of it. That was enough to generate excitement, as he'd heard people speak of it while in his astral form. Despite his long tenure on this rock, he had never been so near to the center of one. They were rare enough that this may have been the nearest he'd ever approached. At least, that was what he thought. So many eons had passed that he may have forgotten one or two. It would be interesting to see one from the totality, and perhaps he'd get the chance to one day. Either on this planet or another with a similar moon.

Also in the news: a school shooter may have been driven to violence by the so-called Five Nights at Freddy's video game by Seattle developer Silver Parasol Games. Almost certainly untrue, but it gave Auric joy to know that even rumors and myths about him potentially drove others to violence. It was something which would live almost as long as he did. Perhaps the only thing that would follow his legacy, such that it was.

Everything else he created rebelled. All his "children" (the wretches) believed they were better off alone. Not great losses. Unlike Phillip, he could not have cared less if insignificant pieces of metal and meat turned against their owner. It barely bothered him how disgusted they became despite his objective superiority. Despite being nothing in his eyes. First the golem and then the animatronics - both of which had now built legends around themselves.

I'll see the latter again someday. In a few more years, he planned to return to Whitewater. At night, he'd get his pawns to kill themselves and each other, swallowing his pride and stabbing them in the back. One day.

For the time being, he remained content to sharpen his knife and figure out whom to plunge it into next.